A Moment In Time
by Autumn Wishes
Summary: When two souls are joined by an ancient prophecy, things change, but it's not always for the better. Follow as Harry and Draco face challenges together, and watch as their bond grow into something more wonderful. DRARRY, Slash. Follows 4th year, but with major changes.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know I'm supposed to be working on On The Edge, but this little plot bunny just wouldn't go away. It's the replacement for Lost, but, I want to see if I should carry on with this story because I'm not so sure about it.**

**So please review and tell me what you think?**

A Moment in Time

-x-

The night of July the 30th 1980 was a special one for many unknown reasons. As soon as the clocks hit 12, a baby was born, along with hundreds of others.

But this baby was special.

A silent wind full of secrets blew through a hospital, rustling the blinds ominously as it weaved its way towards that baby. It hummed as it saw the mother cradling the bloody little mass in her arms, her red hair tangled around her face and her forest green eyes were lovingly tracing her baby's features. And yet, she was as beautiful as ever as she stared down at her child.

The father was standing at the bedside, black hair as unruly as ever, but dark hazel eyes shone with pride and glittered with tears. The wind watched the new family bond together for a few seconds, before slowly making its way towards the child. As gentle as wind could be, he wove around the baby, bonding him and one other together in the world. A burst of magic shimmered in the air, making the lights flicker for only a second, but it quickly disappeared, like it never happened.

However, from that moment in time, two babies were linked together in an ancient prophecy made from the stars, and together, they will save the world.

The wind turned to look back at the happy family, but of course, it knew that it wouldn't last. After all, he knew all the secrets in the world, and so he knew what will happen in a years' time. The wind sighed, turning around and headed towards the closest window. Once out of the white hospital, it flew into the air, mixing with the breeze as it took him somewhere far above the world, where the Gods were waiting anxiously for its arrival.

Passing though the atmosphere, the wind came to a stop as a deep rumble of a voice floated towards him.

"Is it done?"

The wind shimmered, and in a millisecond, a small boy wearing a white toga decorated with gold was standing next to the larger man who had spoken before. The boy's face was pinched under his shock of curly golden hair, and his white wings fluttered sadly.

"It is." He murmured in his young voice, his baritone coloured in melancholy. "Was it really necessary, Merlin?"

"It was indeed, my boy. If we did not bind those boy's together, the world, both muggle and wizard, would be ruled forever by Voldemort."

"But they are only children, Merlin. Do you think that this burden won't destroy them as they grow? It's bad enough that little Harry will lose his parents and then have to go and live with those horrid relatives of his. They won't have the time to be children. Surely there were more appropriate people, older and wiser than them?"

"It is indeed a terrible fate for them, Pegasus, but it had to be done. Those two children have been selected for this prophecy for a hundred centuries, and it is not our choice to change it. It is written in the stars, and no matter how powerful I may be, I do not have the authority to bend it to my will. I'm afraid that the life of the world is resting on their shoulders now, Pegasus, and we can only watch and wait."

"But…they are so different. They both come from different worlds, one from pain and suffering, and the other from having everything and anything at the click of his fingers." Pegasus sighed, lifting his bright gold eyes to Merlin's lined face. "I just don't see how this is going to work. They are literally the opposite of each other."

"You worry too much, Pegasus," Merlin rumbled, reaching up to tweak his navy blue wizard hat. "You need to trust the stars more. They know what they are doing, and they have never been wrong. Have faith, little one, and believe that this will work out. I, for one, do not want to know the outcome if this fails, so I have the upmost trust."

"Alright, Merlin. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Merlin smiled grimly. "Come, Pegasus. You must be tired from you trip. I bet Azura will be dying to get her hands on you."

Pegasus rolled his eyes. "She just won't leave me alone. She's crazy!"

"You must feel honoured, my boy. Many young spirits like you have been trying to capture her heart for centuries. You should feel lucky."

Pegasus sighed, running a hand through his golden locks. "Yes, and they must feel devastated that she has fallen for a mere Spirit Bonder."

"Oh Pegasus," Merlin breathed, clearly disappointed in the younger's way of thinking. "You undoubtedly do not know how important you job is. Without you, the world will crumble at our feet."

"Alright," the blonde sighed, giving up his frail argument. "I'm going to go and rest. Tell Azura that I'm back. I don't what her to get angry at me." Pegasus repressed a shudder.

"Of course, Pegasus. Have a nice rest."

Merlin frowned as he watched the boy fly off, his wrinkled hands gripping the staff he held in a vice-like grasp. _It will work out, my boy. I promise._

-x-


	2. It Begins

**Hello :) It's another update! And I like this chapter, though it's not as long as I wanted it to be, but it was a perfect place to stop. The next chapter will be so much longer, though, and I will try to update it in the week, considering that I have no school to attend. **

**The story starts at 4****th**** year, so it follows the books up till now, okay?**

**This chapter was a struggle, though. I wanted to show the very beginning, how Narcissa felt about her husband and how he treated his son. But I think it worked, and I would love to hear your thoughts about it. This story has really gripped me, and as soon as it is uploaded, I'll be starting the next chapter!**

**Till next time! Lily.**

It Begins

-x-

Albus Dumbledore, a wrinkled old man at least in his hundreds, was pacing anxiously in his stuffy office. His long, silvery hair shimmered in the dull light of the candles that littered the room, and his beard was starting to fall out from under his golden belt buckle. His normally pristine purple robes were creased and wonky, and the spell he cast on them for the sparkling stars was obviously wearing off.

The night was peaceful, so one would wonder what had caused the elderly man's discomfort. Outside, the dark night sky was speckled with stars, and grey clouds floated ominously by, sometimes blocking the light of the crescent moon that hung low overhead. A summer wind shook the leaves and branches of the dark forest not too far away from the school, and the calming rustling somewhat calmed the man's burning nerves.

Earlier that day, he received a fire call by one James Potter, whose eyes were wide behind his wired glasses and a wonky grin was plastered on his face. His words were rushed, but Albus managed to hear a hasty "Lily" "baby" "now".

At first, Albus congratulated the pair, before shooing the eager young man back to his wife. But that was when his mood took a tumble. He instantly stood and started pacing, and this is where we find our dear headmaster now.

_It's beginning, _Albus thought as he cupped his chin with a hand. _As soon as that little boy is bound, fate will be stuck to take the route that is now laid ahead. Nothing will be able to change it._

Of course, he planned to raise the boys as enemies; one in Slytherin and the other in Gryffindor. He wanted them to fester on their hatred of one another, and only then, the power to defeat Voldemort will be shown. He also knew, of course, that the two young boys will not survive; but he was willing to sacrifice anyone to take the Dark Lord down.

He had always encouraged many people that love was the strongest power in the world, but of course, he was saying that to hide his own boiling hatred for the monster who turned his lover against him. And he used the exact same hatred that the boys will use on his dead ex-lover – Grindelwald. He hated how that monster turned his love against him, telling him that the Dark Arts would bring him to power. Which it did, of course, but he would've given him so much more if he stayed on the light. All the Dark Arts brought him was his unfortunate end.

Sighing, he took a seat behind his cluttered desk and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. There was always time for sweets. Linking his fingers, he stared blankly into the pensive, but behind those milky eyes was a jumble of clustered thoughts. He didn't like what he had to do to save the Wizarding world, but even one life is not wasted if it's for the greater good. But the whole secret world looked up to him, and he must do whatever it takes to stop it from collapsing.

Even if it meant raising the boys like pigs for slaughter.

They will understand. They just had to. Of course, he wouldn't tell the boys that they will be dead before they leave Hogwarts, and only a selective few will know about his grand plan.

He just hoped that it would go his way.

-x-

Malfoy Manor was a grand place. A large high green hedge curved around the large expanse of the front garden, and in the centre stood a majestic pair of wrought-iron gate that was curled inwards in elegant swirls. Strutting across the greenery was a bunch of Albino peacocks, ruffling their large, beautiful feathers. The sun, which was a large golden disk in the rich blue sky, caressed the flower petals in the flowerbeds as they let go of their intoxicating fragrances.

The building itself was very handsome indeed. The whole structure was built from white stone bricks, and large glass windows shone brightly in the sunlight. A cobbled path ran from the gates to the ostentatious wooden front door, which opened up to a greatly decorated hallway with a graceful staircase in the middle, and a blood red carpet running through the centre. Large, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and moving paintings ornamented the red walls.

The manor held a serenity most people longed for. The happy tune of birds singing could be heard, along with the soft classical music that seemed to come from nowhere. The air was fresh and warm with the summer breeze, and the scent of the flowers outside floated around the rooms.

The calming silence was shattered by a baby's cry, the young voice high and squeaky. A lady with long white blonde hair twisted elegantly into a large bun and clad in a light blue dress that just brushed the floor came hurrying in from one of the many rooms, heading straight for the crying child. Soon, the lady held the bundle in her arms, her soft voice singing a tune and arms rocking slightly. The baby gurgled and blinked his large grey eyes, stretching his arms up and wiggling his fingers, yawning.

"Narcissa, dear, what does Draco need this time?" a man walked into the room with an aura of pompousness surrounding him. His steel grey eyes were narrowed and his mouth twisted into a sneer that lined his face. His white blonde hair was brushed back, coming to a stop just after his shoulders, and a black walking stick was clucking along with his every right step.

"He just wanted a cuddle, Lucius." Narcissa said, her voice clipped and her gentle blue eyes turning cold.

"Narcissa, how many times do I have to tell you to leave him be? He does not need all this coddling. He needs to learn how to look after himself."

"Lucius! He is three months old! How can you expect a baby to look after himself?"

"Fine. Then let one of the house elves take care of him. Just make sure that you do not run out on our guests again!" with that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving his wife and child alone.

Narcissa sighed and took a seat in the armchair next to Draco's cot, holding her child close. _Someday,_ she thought desperately, _we will be rid of him for once and for all, little Draco. I promise._

Narcissa pinched her nose before placing the now sleeping baby back into his crib, before forcing up her cold mask and dusting off her dress. They only had to last a while longer, and she and Draco could manage that. Soon, Lucius and Voldemort will be absent from her life. She swore on it.

_**14 years later… **_

The young baby of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had grown into a marvellous young man. Draco Malfoy was tall for his age, and had inherited his mother's white blonde hair and his father's silver eyes. He had a pointed face and sharp, cold eyes that were almost constantly narrowed to intimidate people. He had a strong nose and perfect blonde eyebrows that arched over his orbs flawlessly. His hair was in a perfect style; long white blonde bangs fell into his eyes and tucked behind his round ears, but the rest of it was cut short, coming to a stop at the base of his neck.

Today was very special to Draco. Today, his and his mother's plans begin. His father, Lucius, was waiting impatiently at the bottom of the grand staircase, his arms folded and grey eyes narrowed. His hair brushed his shoulders in a silvery fall, looking like liquid sunshine.

"Come along, Draco." He said in his strong voice. "We do not want to keep the Minister waiting."

"Yes, father." Draco replied, picking up speed until he was walking by his father's flank, matching his stride with Lucius'.

Narcissa stood at the top of the stairs, watching her small family walk out the large doors. As the doors clicked shut, her mask fell, and the cold, posh woman from before disappeared in a blink of an eye, turning into a weary, timid woman, slouched and her eyes sad.

It was taking longer than she had expected to get rid of her horrid husband. Truth be told, she never wanted to go to the Dark Side. She wanted to keep as far away as possible from You-Know-Who, but instead, Lucius had dragged her and her child into it, and now, even if they do manage to escape, there will be consequences.

She had never loved her husband. She was forced to marry him by her crazy mother, who wouldn't think twice to disown her. And to be disowned from your pure-blooded family was worse than death. Well, that was what she thought when she was younger. Now, however, she would take being disowned than marrying the scum she called a husband, but you can't change the past, much to her dismay.

Over the years, she and Draco had planned how and when it would be best to try and leave this awful life, and finally, they came up with something. It's a long shot, but, if it works, they may be safe from You-Know-Who and his followers.

They needed to be noticed by the light. If they are seen with people who are a large influence or are close to Dumbledore, they may be able to ask him for help, once they gain his trust, of course. So, all Draco had to do was become friends with his rival; Harry Potter.

It was a long shot, and she knew that. Draco knew that, too, but it's the best chance they had. Besides, Draco had always wanted to become friends with Harry. When Lucius was out doing his Deatheater business, Draco told her things of his school life, about how Harry had gone against the teacher's and stopped You-Know-Who from rising again in only his first year, to slaying a basilisk in his second, to fighting off hundreds of Dementors in his third.

Yes, he was clearly a remarkable boy, and he was indeed much more than the scar on his forehead. He had talent, power, and that's what they needed to escape. They won't be using him, per se, but he will help them out a lot.

They had heard over the summer that the Weasleys had gotten hold of some rare tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, and instantly knew that they would invite Potter along. Seizing the chance, Draco hinted about the Quidditch world cup to his father, and if it wasn't for the Deatheater business, the chance would've been missed.

They planned what Draco would do while his father was busy with the Minister. It's not faultless, but it was as good at it could be in the shot time they had to organise it. And today, it would go into action.

She only hoped that it will work.

-x-


	3. The Portkey and the Campsite

**Hello! This chapter's a biggy! Told you it would, although most of it is copied from the book, because nothing has changed yet. Next chapter however, I can't say the same! We finally see some changes and then it will be different from the books! Have of the information I miss out, though, because I had to cram two chapters into one, but don't worry; it was only the pointless stuff. And when school starts again, I don't think I can keep up with chapters this long, unless you would want to wait a while in between…**

**Oh yeah.. I forgot about the disclaimer… this goes for the whole thing, 'Kay? : I do not in any way own Harry potter or any of the amazing characters. I might, however, try to steal Severus, Draco and Harry and keep them at my house for my own entertainment… :D**

**Okay, Enjoy!**

The Portkey and the Campsite

-x-

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had been this excited. Just the thought of going to see Quidditch with his best friends sent tingles up his spine. He sighed happily in the small bed in Ron's room, too enthusiastic to go to sleep. His limbs itched with adrenaline, and he constantly move under the quilt.

It seemed that Ron also had the same problem. It didn't really help that Mrs Weasley had rounded everyone up at 9pm to go to bed, and even Percy - the eldest sibling there - thought it was a bit early, but everyone knew he just wanted to talk about his work on Cauldron bottom thickness.

Charlie and Bill were going with them, but they were apparating instead from their work, so they didn't need to get up as early as they did. Ron moaned at this, asking his father why they couldn't go at midday as well. Mr Weasley just ignored him.

The moonlight that filtered through the thread-bare curtains made shadows long across Ron's orange walls, and it was just bright enough to make out the players on all the Chudley Cannons posters that were dotted around the room.

Harry heard Ron shift again in his bed. It was a rare thing; Ron not sleeping as soon as his head hit the pillow. He could also hear the twins above him talking in low voices that were muffled by the sloping ceiling. It was quite a possibility that most people in the house were still awake.

Taking a deep breath, Harry thought he had better try to get some sleep; otherwise he wouldn't be able to get up in the morning. Closing his eyes, he thought about the twins' Tongue-tied toffee, and slowly fell asleep to Dudley's gasps and Aunt Petunia's amusing shrieks.

-x-

It felt like he had just fallen asleep when he was being shaken awake by Mrs Weasley.

"Time to go, Harry dear," she whispered before moving away to wake a snoring Ron.

Harry flung out an arm and felt around for his glasses, before putting them on and propping himself up onto his elbows, yawning loudly. He heard Ron mumble tiredly and the soft footsteps of Mrs Weasley moving out the room and going upstairs to wake the others.

He rubbed his gritty eyes from under his glasses before moving to get changed, and after hearing Ron do the same, dressed in silence, too tired to talk.

Mrs Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot when they finally stumbled down stairs, their hair mussed in tangled curls and faces pale. Hermione, Fred, George and Mr Weasley were already sat at the dinner table, all looking tired but more awake than Harry and Ron. Mr Weasley was checking something that looked like a large pile of parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered, and didn't hesitate to spread his arms wide so they could see his clothes more clearly.

He was wearing what appeared to be a large, grey golfing jumper and a very old pair of faded blue jeans, slightly too big for him and held up by a thick leather belt.

"What d'you think?" he asked anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito…do I look like a muggle, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, smiling. "Very good."

"Where are Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs Weasley as she heaved the large pot over and started to ladle the porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

Harry knew that Apparating was very difficult, but just the thought of learning to disappear from one place and instantly appear in another made him look forward to learning it.

"So they're still in bed?" said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge towards him. "Why can't we Apparate, too?"

"Because you're not of age and you haven't got your test." Snapped Mrs Weasley, before she bustled up the stairs to get Ginny up.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," said Mr Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a licence. It's not easy, Apparation, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

Everyone around the table except Harry winced.

"Er – _splinched?" _Harry asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"They left half of themselves behind," Mr Weasley explained, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. "So of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. They had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind…"

Harry shuddered as a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive invaded his mind. "Were they okay?" He asked, startled.

"Oh yes," said Mr Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You shouldn't mess around with Apparation, Harry. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms – slower, but safer."

There were footsteps down the passageway and Ginny walked into the kitchen, looking pale and drowsy. She fell into a seat next to George ungracefully.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"We've got a bit of a walk," Mr Weasley answered, licking his lips.

"Walk?" said Harry, cocking his head slightly. "we're walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr Weasley, smiling in amusement. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup –"

"George!" Mrs Weasley's sharp tone interrupted the rest of Mr Weasley's sentence, making them all jump.

"What?" Replied George, looking a bit too innocent for everyone's liking.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs Weasley then proceeded to point her wand at George's pocket, and shouted, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George's pocket. George grunted as he made a grab for them, but missed. They all flew into Mrs Weasley's outstretched hand.

"I told you to destroy them!" said Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up the same sweets that spilled out of his pocket when they came to pick Harry up from the Dursley's. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

Harry had to hide his smile behind a hand; it was an amusing scene. The twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs Weasley managed to find them all.

"_Accio! Accio! Accio!" _she shouted, and the brightly coloured Ton-Tongue Toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw them all away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O. !"

Breakfast was an awkward affair after that. The twins kept sending their mother glares when they thought she wasn't looking, and when it was time to go, they hoisted their backpacks onto their shoulders and walked out without a glance.

"Have a lovely time," Mrs Weasley called after them. "and _behave yourselves!" _she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer.

"I'll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday," Mrs Weasley said to Mr Weasley, kissing his cheek before he, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny set off across the dark yard after the twins.

The air was bitter cold, and the moon hung low overhead. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding towards the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr Weasley.

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" He asked.

"It's been a massive organisational problem," sighed Mr Weasley. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up to the World Cup, and of course we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. Firstly, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand.

"A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains - remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

Mr Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" said Harry curiously.

"Well, they can be anything," said Mr Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them ... stuff they'll just think is litter..."

They trudged down the dark, dank lane towards the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry's hands and feet were freezing.

Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.

They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest, and his legs were starting to seize up when at last his feet found level ground.

"Whew," panted Mr Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes..."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big... come on..."

They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rented the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was captain and Seeker of Hufflepuff house Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all.

Everybody said "Hi" back except Fred and George, who merely nodded.

They had never quite forgotten Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still... not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around all three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh, no, only the redheads," said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend -"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Er - yeah," said Harry.

Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightening scar on his forehead, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will ... you beat Harry Potter!"

Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... there were Dementors… it was an accident..."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman ... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"Must be nearly time," said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in the area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off... we'd better get ready..."

He looked round at Harry and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -" With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

They all stood there in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now...

Nine people, two grown men, clutching a manky old boot in the semi-darkness, waiting... "Three ..." muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two...one..."

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. His feet had left the ground; he could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onwards and then -

His feet slammed onto the ground; Ron staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.

Harry looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.

Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, One of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly; the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, and empty drinks can and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... we've been here all night... you'd better get out of the way; we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site managers called Mr Roberts. Diggory...second field... ask for Mr Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys', and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres.

When he heard footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Mr Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the Wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr Roberts.

"Ah - right - certainly -" said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry towards him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I can see the little number on it now ... so this is a five?"

"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is ... I don't know, these little bits of paper ..."

"You foreign?" said Mr Roberts, as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr Roberts, scrutinizing Mr Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr Weasley nervously.

Mr Roberts rummaged around in his tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty fields again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdoes, you know? There's a bloke walking round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of ... I dunno ... like some sort of rally," said Mr Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts.

Instantly, Mr Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknotted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr Roberts said placidly to Mr Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted; his chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes.

Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I thought Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports?" said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit ... well ... lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most of them looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bell-pulls, or weather-vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious.

Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little further on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent which had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr Weasley, smiling, "we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read "Weezly".

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr Weasley happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult ... Muggles do it all the time ... here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry didn't know, as he had never been camping in his live. However, he and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr Weasley was more a hindrance then a help, because he got thoroughly over-excited when it came to using a mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem, too; she gave Harry a quizzical look as Mr Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop.

He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-roomed flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs Figg's; there were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs, and a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much any more, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water ..."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Harry inside the tent, and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions.

"It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry and Hermione go and get us some water, then -" Mr Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans, "- and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire."

"But we've got an oven," said Ron, "why can't we just -?"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.

People were stirring inside the tents, and kids were running about outside, yelling and screaming, one boy was playing with a wand, prodding a slug and making it grow to the size of a salami. Another was riding on a toy broomstick, which rose only high enough for her toes to skim the dewy grass. They saw a Ministry wizard hurrying towards her, muttering distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -"

On their way, they saw friends chatting excitedly with their families. There was Seamus Finnegan – their roommate at Hogwarts, and also Cho Chang and Ernie Macmillan.

Soon, they were back at their tent with the kettle on, and Mr Weasley was having a great time lighting up matches.

At last, they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right along a thoroughfare to the pitch, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards them.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly.

"Ah, excellent, lunch!"

They were halfway through their plates of sausages and eggs when Mr Weasley jumped up to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding towards them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest.

He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England.

His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet, and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed, as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming ... and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements ... not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air. Percy hurried forwards with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah - yes," said Mr Weasley, grinning, "this is my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny - and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Bagman did the smallest of double-takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upwards to the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Everyone," Mr Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll ..."

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively, "all you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look, and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

They chatted for a while, but then Barty Crouch came by and Percy offered him tea. Soon after though, Ludo and Crouch dissaparated.

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared; the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable, and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries which played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts, which really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry, as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased himself a dancing-shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered in all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the sales-wizard eagerly. "You can replay action ... slow everything down ... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Three pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "for about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programmes, look -"

Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr Weasley was carrying an Irish flag.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

"It's time!" said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

-x-


	4. The Quidditch World Cup

**Okay, two chapters in one day? That's mad, but this chapter should be the last I copy from the book. Once again, most text is not mine. I just made some changes that are necessary for the rest of the story. I wanted go get it over with, so no it's all going to change. Looking forward to it? I am.**

**Enjoy! Disclaimer in previous chapter.**

The Quidditch World Cup

-x-

Clutching their purchases with Mr Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the thundering sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer… Mrs Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!… Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade…

Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, bat-like ears were oddly familiar…

"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby – it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf – that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf.

She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.

"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.

"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again…"

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled program.

"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" she read aloud.

"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered.

Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English.

"Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat…

Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy and young Draco Malfoy. Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Draco. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr Malfoy's cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row. However, Harry's eyes were locked onto Draco's – there was something different about him. Draco must have sensed his gaze, because he looked back and a tiny hint of a smile pulled at his lips.

Harry blinked, startled. Malfoy junior didn't just… _smile _at him, right?

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How - how nice," said Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him.

Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys' prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are veel -?"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women… the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen… except that they weren't - they couldn't be - human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind… but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human - in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all.

The veela had started to dance, and Harry's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen.

And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry's dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea… but would it be good enough?

"Harry, what are you doing?" said Hermione's voice from a long way off.

The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Ron, staring open mouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise.

She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. "Honestly!" she said.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, and then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it –

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch.

With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

The game went on for quite a while, and Harry had fun playing around with his new Omnioculars. The noise of the stadium pulsed against his eardrums, making them throb, but the voice-over could be heard clearly over the screams. Also, Harry had learned about a new trick… a Wronski Feint, where you head towards the ground after an imaginary snitch, pulling up at the last minute and sending the other seeker straight into the ground with a sickening crack.

But Harry wasn't a seeker for nothing. He saw the snitch before anyone else and shouted it as the Irish seeker spotted it too.

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!" Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on… but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

And he was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good… He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all…

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess…"

Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots.

Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, ear-splitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry's hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years;" he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn't have lasted longer… Ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. For earlier they had betted all their savings on Ireland winning but Krum catching the snitch.

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money, we don't want it confiscated."

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

-x-


	5. The Dark Mark

The Dark Mark

-x-

Nobody wanted to go to bed that night. They could still feel the lingering effects of adrenalin rushing through their veins, and the loud cheering and singing that filled the air was intoxicating. Fred and George had linked arms, skipping around in circles singing in stupidly high voices, cheeks red and eyes sparkling. They all chatted animatedly about the game, reliving the best bits as they walked back on the familiar lantern-lit path back to their tents. The night sky twinkled with millions of stars, seeming to shine more brightly than ever – maybe they were celebrating Irelands' win?

The raucous cheering was still blasting from outside when they were all comfortable in the boy's tents, and Mr Weasley had let them stay up a while longer – there was no way that anybody could sleep feeling this excited and with all the noise – and agreed that they could have a cup of warm cocoa together before trying to get to sleep.

Ron and Hermione were arguing about who were the best team – Ron defending Bulgaria because they caught the snitch, while Hermione huffed about the amount of points Ireland had. Clearly the whole Ireland team had more talent than Bulgaria, who only had one good player – Krum.

It was only when Ginny fell asleep at the table - her mug of cocoa balancing precautiously in her limp hand - that Mr Weasley decided that it was time for bed.

A sleepy Ginny and a still muttering Hermione went back to their own tent, and everyone changed into their pajamas and clambered into their bunks. If they listened carefully, they could still hear muffled singing and the odd bang from the other side of the campsite.

"Just imagine being on duty tonight, dad," Ron murmured from under the covers of his bunk. "It'll be mad to try to stop the Irish from celebrating."

Mr Weasley suppressed a shudder. "Yes, it would." He agreed. "I feel sorry for Tonks and Kingsley. They're both on the night shift." He yawned, lying down onto his own bunk. "Come on, boys. It's time to get some sleep."

Harry settled down comfortably on his bunk above Ron's, pulling the quilt up to his nose. The flashes of lanterns through the thin material of the tent slowly lulled him to sleep.

It wasn't long before he fell into darkness.

-x-

A piercing scream shattered the murky blackness Harry was currently floating in.

Suddenly, he could hear Mr Weasley's panicky voice yelling at them to get up and put on a pair of jeans, and Ron grumbling under him. He dimly noticed that the noise in the campsite had changed – happy, cheery singing and shouting had been replaced with screams, and the sound of people running.

"Get up! Ron – Harry – come on now, we need to move! This is urgent!"

Harry quickly slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, hastily pulling his jeans over his pajama bottoms and shoving on a jacket. He swiftly patted his pocket to make sure he had his wand on him.

They hurried out of the tent – and into chaos. The happy campsite had disappeared, and in its place was a mass of twisting flames, eating up the many tents and trailing along the floor. The air was cold and frigid, impossible temperatures for July. People were shoving past others, all heading towards the cover of the dark forest next to them.

Through the loud jeering, roars of laughter and drunken shouts, he could see something dark moving slowly across the field. A sound not unlike a gunfire sounded, and a sudden burst of strong green light illuminated the figures.

They were moving together – tightly packed and wands pointing straight upward – were marching confidently across the field –

And then Harry realised that they had hoods and wore distinctive masks…

Deatheaters.

Harry yelped, reaching back and grabbing Ron's arm, franticly pulling him along, trying to keep up with Mr Weasley's back. Ginny and Hermione appeared at their sides.

"Harry! They have Mr Roberts and his family!" Hermione yelled, panic clear in her voice. She attached herself to Ron's arm while Ginny grabbed the other.

Happy spun around and only then did he see the four floating bodies above the Deatheaters, their struggling bodies contorted into grotesque shapes. He was horrified to see more wizards joining the marching group, jeering and laughing at the floating bodies.

Harry felt sick. How could anyone hurt another person? No... Harry needed to get out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he tugged harder on his friend's arm, trying to keep them together as Mr Weasley herded them through the rapidly growing crowds –

And then, Bill, Charlie and Percy appeared at their sides with their sleeves rolled up and wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie and Percy were already sprinting away towards the oncoming marchers, and Mr Weasley tore after them. Harry then saw Ministry wizards dashing from every direction towards the source of trouble, eyes wild as they shouted at the people, probably to head towards the forest.

Fred and George – the pranksters of the family – grabbed the three younger teenagers and started to yank them towards the forest. Their faces were twisted into determined sneers, their wands out ready to take down anyone who got in their way –

Abruptly, hands wrapped around Harry's mouth and over his chest, yanking him back against a firm chest, and the hot breath of the man behind him brushed heavily over his head, rank with the scent of Fire Whiskey –

"Oi!" Fred's voice rang out, loud and frightening. "Let him go! I warn you!"

The man heaved a wheezing laugh, tightening his grip on the wiggling boy in his grasp.

"Yeh think I would give Potter up tha' easily?" the man leered throatily. " Nah, I is takin' him to them-" he nodded his head towards the Deatheaters, "- and then they will leave us alone."

George jumped forward, buy stopped when the man shoved a wand tip into Harry's neck.

"One wrong move boy and this one gets it." The man shouted, moving his arm from Harry's chest to his neck.

Harry barely noticed that the other guys had grabbed Ron and Ginny, as he was too busy trying to twist out of the man's tight grasp.

"You're coming with me," the man whispered throatily in his ear, and then they both started to stumble backwards, the Weasley's slowly disappearing into the middle of the mess.

No! Harry couldn't let these guys take him that easily! He twisted in the man's grasp, thrusting the heal of his hand up into the man's nose, hearing it snap with the force of the blow. The men howled in pain and harry made use of the lack of concentration, gripping the man's shoulder and pushing him back over his leg, making the man tumble to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

And then he ran.

He headed towards where he thought the Weasley's were, dodging and ducking the zooming spells that flew overhead, jumping over Fire whiskey bottles and other trippable items. A stitch started to sting in his side, but he ignored it, trying to find the family though the chaos.

He stated to panic when no sign of the Weasley's appeared; his breath quickening, he pulled out his wand. What mattered now was that he had to defend himself; consequences be damned.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his arm, yanking him to the floor. He landed with an oomph.

"Potter, what are you doing here alone?"

Harry turned to the person lying next to him, eyes widening as he recognised the blonde hair and the startling grey eyes.

"Malfoy?" he asked, surprised at seeing his rival lying next to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Well it looks like I'm saving your ass," he said back, once again yanking on Harry's arm, pulling him through the screaming crowd. "You were heading right towards the Deatheaters, Potter. No offence, but if we lose you, the rest of us are doomed."

"Nice to know that you care, Malfoy," Harry muttered back, pushing Malfoy over as a spell headed straight towards them, only missing Malfoy's head by millimetres.

Malfoy muttered a thanks and yanked potter back up, shoving him towards the forest. "You need to get out of here, Potter. You shouldn't have left the Weasley's side!"

It's not my fault!" Potter spat. "We got split up but a group of thugs who wanted to give me to the Deatheaters. I sort of beat him up before running into you."

"You?" Malfoy spluttered. "The great Harry Potter actually hurting somebody on purpose? That's simply unheard of! I must alert the presses –"

"Malfoy, this isn't the time and place to mess around!" Harry growled, ducking to the side as another spell whizzed past. "Just concentrate on getting to the forest!"

Slowly, the made it past the roaring, screaming crowed, but as soon as they stepped inside the cover of the trees, hands once again wrapped around him, pulling him back. He heard Malfoy grunt; they'd got him too.

"Trying to get away, little boy?" the same man from before murmured into Harry's ear, making him shiver in disgust. "And look, you've bought a friend with you."

Harry growled, but the beefy hand clamped round his throat, daring him to step out of line.

He looked over at Malfoy, and was surprised to see that it didn't look like Malfoy at all. He could tell it was really him though; the eyes were the same. Instead of the silvery blonde hair, a curly mop of dark chocolate was in its place, and a faint scatter of freckles adorned his cheeks.

"Let me go, you great big idiot!" Malfoy snarled, twisting and kicking in the man's hold.

The man behind harry tutted. "Not so fast, Curly," He wheezed. "If you're hangin' around with 'im, you must be important, too."

"That's unlikely," Malfoy sniffed, sticking his nose in the air. "I don't even know who this kid is. I was just guiding him to the field."

The man snorted. "Like hell yeh didn't know who he is. He's flippin' 'Arry Potter!"

"My family neither supports Potter or You-Know-Who. Trust me, I am not important.

The man's bulging eyes narrowed. "What's yeh name?"

Samuel Biggins," Malfoy replied promptly. "Half-blood."

"Half-blood, ah? Yeh know the Dark lord hated anybody who wasn't pureblood." The man nodded to himself. "Jus' throw 'im over there, Sid. He's not useful to us."

However, as soon as Sid released Malfoy's wrists, he promptly collapsed when Malfoy's foot swung round, striking the man right in his tenders.

The man holding Harry didn't know what was coming as Malfoy advanced on him. He used Harry's body as a shield, but it was futile. Draco striked, and every hit landed on the bulky man. The man shoved harry aside before trying to hit Draco while defending himself from the blows.

Now that Harry was out of the way, Malfoy was able to do some proper damage. Like earlier, he mimicked Harry's move by thrusting the heal of his hand up into the man's already broken nose, and the man screamed in pain, but didn't drop his guard.

Growling, Draco swung his foot around and it landed in the man's tenders.

From the floor, harry watched in awe. Malfoy moved in such grace and agility it was like a dance. A movement from behind him caused him to turn round, hand clenching into a fist and landing solidly in Sid's stomach.

As the two students fought, they didn't notice that the screaming was decreasing, and the campsite almost deserted.

Finally, both men were unconscious on the floor, the two boys standing over them, panting.

"You were good, Malfoy," Harry commented, smirking slightly.

"You weren't too bad yourself, for a Gryffindor." Malfoy replied, sneering right back.

"You can take the glamour off now, Malfoy. Wouldn't want you to suffer as a half-blood for much longer."

Malfoy scoffed. "Nice to know you care about me, Potter. However, it would be best if I stayed like this. If a Deatheater spotted me helping you of all people…"

Harry smirked. "I get it; you don't want to risk your perfect ass."

"Of course not! Have you seen my ass? Why would I risk it?"

Harry chuckled. "You're so full of yourself! No wonder your head is over-sized."

"At least I'm not a midget."

Harry was about to reply, but he realised that the sound of running, screaming people had vanished, and only then did he realise that they were alone. There was no one left in the campsite, only the eerie whistle of the wind and the rustle of leaves sounding. Even the forest behind them was quiet.

"Um… Malfoy?" Harry murmured, eyes darting around the empty site, fingering the wand in his back pocket with some apprehension. "You know we are alone now, right?"

Malfoy snorted. "Scared, Potter? I tho-"

Harry clamped his hand over Malfoy's mouth as a man came staggering over the campsite, throwing glances over his thin shoulders, a thick wand in his tight fist.

Both boys watched as the ragged man came to a stop in the centre, wild eyes still looking around his surroundings. And then, without warning, the silence around them was broken by a voice unlike any they had heard, and it shouted – not in panic – what sounded like a spell.

"MORSMORDRE"

Malfoy gasped beside Harry, but Harry didn't chance a glance at the blonde. His eyes were trained on the emerald green mist that had erupted from the tip of the man's wand, bright in the darkness as it flew up over the campsite and into the black sky.

The mist then started to form; a colossal skull, compromised of what looked like emerald stars, with a large serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue.

As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around them exploded with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the whole campsite in an eerie green light.

He looked down for the man, scanning the darkness but he was gone.

"Potter," Malfoy's voice was a shaky murmur. "D-do you know what that is?"

Harry didn't know, but he guessed it was a bad sign, as he had never heard Malfoy sound so scared before. "No… What's the matter?"

"It's the Dark Mark, Potter!" Malfoy moaned, gripping his arm and pulling him as hard as he could. "It's the Dark Lords sign!"

"Voldemort's –"

"Yes, now come on, Potter!"

The two of them started off towards the clearing, but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of around twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them completely.

Harry whirled around in an instant. He registered that every wizard had their wand out, trained on them.

Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!"

He grabbed the collar of Malfoy's robe, yanking him down onto the floor.

"STUPEFY!" Roared twenty voices – there was a blinding series of red flashes and Harry felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept through the clearing. He knew that there were jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizard's wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness –

"Stop!" Yelled a voice Harry recognised. "Stop! They didn't do it!"

Harry's hair stopped blowing about. He raised his head, and he could feel the Malfoy did the same next to him. The wizards were slowly lowering their wands and he saw Mr Weasley running towards them, followed closely by his children and Hermione, looking terrified.

"Harry –" his voice sounded shaky, "are you alright?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr Crouch.

He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" said Harry, gesturing up at the skull. "There was a man over there -"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woollen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to."

"We're not lying!" Malfoy spoke out, his grey eyes stormy under his curly dark hair. "As Potter, said, there was a man over there in the middle. We didn't do it!" he pointed over to the place where they saw the man.

"Oh stood over there, Did he?" said Mr Crouch, voice full of mocking sarcasm.

"But that's Harry Potter…" said the witch in the woollen dressing gown. "He would be the least likely person to have cast it."

"I don't care if it's Harry Potter!" snarled Mr Crouch, spittle flying from his open mouth. "They did it!"

"Mr Crouch!" shouted a wizard a few metres away. "We've got someone! Unconscious! It's – but – blimey…"

"What is it?" snapped Mr Crouch, walking over to the kneeling wizard.

"It's a house elf, sir." said the wizard as he lifted the small creature into his arms.

Mr Crouch did not move or speak. "This – cannot – be," he said jerkily. "no –"

"There's no one else here though, sir." said the wizard.

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf… I mean to say…"

"Come off it, Amos," said Mr. Weasley quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr. Diggory, "and she had a wand."

"What?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirred.

Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position.

She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" said Mr. Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," said Mr. Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I - I - I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it.

"Hey - that's mine!" Ron shouted from behind Mr Weasley.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.

"That's my wand!" said Ron, moving forward, hand out. "The man who jumped me took it earlier!"

"It's true, Mr Crouch," Mr Weasley spoke out, pushing Ron behind him as he stepped forward. "A group of men jumped us as we were heading towards the forest. One dragged Harry away and the others tried to take our wands, but they only succeeded in taking Ron's."

"But… how did a house elf get hold of it then?" asked Mr Diggory.

"We're not going to find out anything standing here," said Mr Crouch coldly. "I'll take her back to the Ministry and question her under Veritaserum."

"However, I think we should see the last spell this wand preformed." Mr Diggory spoke out.

Mr Crouch nodded. "Yes, yes. Do it, if you would."

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.

Harry heard people gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke.

"So," said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr. Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," said Mr. Weasley loudly, "think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell… Where would she have learned it?"

"As I said," said Mr Crouch, cutting in. "I will take her to the ministry. Arthur, take your kids home, there's been far too much excitement going on."

"Yes, of course." Said Arthur as he moved forward to take Harry's arm.

"Bye, Sam," said Harry, turning to look at Malfoy. "Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome, Potter." replied Malfoy, nodding slightly.

And then, the Weasley's, Harry and Hermione made their way back to the Portkey.

-x-


End file.
